Endless
by Crayola Hearts
Summary: It never ends, does it?


**_Note:_ **This was inspired by my sheer desire to make my friend who roleplays Gray on tumblr cry. Drown in the feels, bro.

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It never ends, does it?

Just when he thought he'd been granted some peace of mind, that he could fall into the routine of things again knowing that the demon that haunted his past and woke in him a cold sweat in the middle of the night was gone, just when he thought he could finally get on with his life like a normal human being and to try and make his way in a world that seemed to be out to get him - it all came crashing down.

It shook him like the tremors of an earthquake that could not be measured by any instrument constructed by human hands. It shattered the mirage of peace that had settled around him. The stilts that held him up had snapped beneath the full weight of the realization, leaving him with nothing but a crumbled mess and an inescapable nightmare.

Only this time it wasn't just a nightmare.

He would not be waking up in the morning to claim that it was all in his head. The feelings of dread and helplessness and utter rage would not pass - for it was real. It wasn't in his head, it was laid before him in the flesh of his father; the demon who had taken everything from him.

It was almost insulting that that fucking unholy thing _dared_ to present himself before him in the body of his father - to speak to him in his voice - to reduce him to nothing more than a usable shell. A fucking suit that he could put on whenever he pleased as if the life of the man he stole meant absolutely _nothing_.

And the realization had crashed down on him. The life his teacher gave to protect him had been in vain, for that beast stood before him now, smiling as if he were a child with a new toy; something else to bend and break until it was in tiny pieces before his feet.

He felt like a kid again - helpless and scared before a nightmare he couldn't wake from. A child lost in a war that was too much for him. A child forced to grow up too quickly in a world where his innocence had been so violently ripped from him. He felt like a child who'd been forced to face the circles of hell a hundred years too early. He felt like he was cursed.

Oh how he wished he could just bolt up right, throwing off the covers with a harsh scream, because that would mean that this wasn't happening. He could deal with the pain and tears, he could distract himself until exhaustion finally took him to sleep's embrace once more - at least then he knew it wouldn't be real.

But he was forced to come to a decision - to end it here or leave it, and he certainly wasn't going to leave it. He _couldn't. _This was a fight to the death, one that he couldn't escape, and while he had no qualms about destroying the monster who had taken his innocence, who was responsible for the death of his loved ones and the hell he'd been through, the bitter reality was that he'd have to live through his father's death once more.

And this time it would be by his own hands.

And though the peace of mind it would bring to know that the demon had been subdued would not be enough to null the devastating _guilt_ that would take him. Because the grief that had followed once had been enough and he didn't think he could bare this one.

He was breaking. Falling apart piece by piece before this man, his boiling rage melting away the barrier of ice he had guarded himself with. And though he knew his friends had his back, this was a fight he had to face alone. No one could intervene for this was his chance to fix things, whether it cost him his life or not - it was his chance to finish what his teacher started, to make sure her death had not been in vain.

But the question wasn't _would _he do it, but _could_ he do it?

It was too much. Too fucking much.

How much more of this could he take?

How much longer could he hold out through the pain and grief before he finally broke? When would it ever end?

The scars would never heal - no amount of time could fix the damage done. They cut deep, past flesh and bone, farther than any physical wound. It left it's impressions on his mind, like a parasite leeching the life from him until he finally shriveled up and withered away. And this...this was nothing more than rubbing salt in his open wounds.

He was coming undone, unraveling like a pulled thread on a torn shirt. Everything was falling apart and there was nothing there to stop it - he was losing himself, drowning in the the inescapable misery.

Just how much longer would this cycle go on for?

Would he ever be able to wake one morning and feel like everything was alright for once? Or was that nothing more than idealistic wish that lingered just beyond his grasp, and no matter how far he reached, it was always being pulled away from him. It was a sick, cruel joke -

And he couldn't take it anymore.


End file.
